


Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot

by greerwatson



Series: ITOWverse:  Autumn Holidays 2010 [10]
Category: RENAULT Mary - Works
Genre: Gen, Guy Fawkes Night, ITOWverse, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-10
Updated: 2010-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6289375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/pseuds/greerwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Secretary enjoys her first Bonfire Night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot

The bonfire was lit after sunset, when it was getting dim.  To the Secretary, the procedure was an arcane ritual; for Dave, a matter of technical expertise:  lighting a twist of burlap round the end of a long stick, and leaning far forward to poke it through the gaps to the most flammable material in the centre of the edifice, where spaces allowed air to funnel the flames upward to ignite the entire bonfire.  It caught faster than the Secretary had expected.  The smell of burning wood scented the breeze, the smoke making people move back a bit.  On top of the pile the guy stood bravely bound to a long spar, his masked face a little crazed.  Leaves burst through his buttoned shirt, until finally a flicker of flame caught them and they flared brightly through the cloth, which caught in turn.

Just whose effigy was being burned was a matter of speculation among the Ancients watching.  The story of Guy Fawkes passed from the philosophers to the warriors, and thence to ordinary citizens, and women and children, with inevitable changes _en route_.  When the squibs buried in his breast exploded with sparks and bangs, there were several screams—and not only from those faint of heart.  Gunpowder was unknown in their day, though flagration was a commonplace of war.

As the fires burned lower, attention was drawn to the parade ground by a series of reports and flashes that once again startled—indeed terrified—many of the onlookers, but the soldiers rallied towards the danger, only to be warned back by the C.O.s, who were keeping a large area clear for action.

Albeit variously coloured, the flares were sufficiently similar to Greek fire that the soldiers were wary; but the fountains entranced with their sprays of sparks.  The first Catherine wheel, nailed to the post, spun mesmerically; and was followed by a rocket.  The Secretary began to hear familiar oohs—and not only from the Moderns, for the Ancients quickly realized that the tame and colourful explosions were intended as entertainment.

“A remarkable ceremony.” 

The Secretary turned to see Sokrates near her elbow.

“I am correct, am I not, in thinking that it honours the principle of civic loyalty?”

“Something like that,” she answered.  “I guess.  You should really ask one of the characters from the Author’s modern novels:  it’s an English holiday; and not one that is celebrated in my country.  My country as was,” she added hastily.  “I’m here, now, of course.”

Over the whistle of the rocket, she had raised her voice; it carried in the silence that greeted the shower of glittering stars.  A couple of heads turned.

The display ended in a flurry of rockets in quick succession.  There was some hesitation at first over whether this was, in fact the end, and what further activity might be planned; but a loud summons from Reg brought them back to the dying fire, where potatoes were being raked from the ashes.  A couple of bushels must have been buried.  Juggling hers—for it was very hot—the Secretary found herself advised by Leo to break it open and slather it with butter and salt.  There was, indeed, butter going round, borne by some of the ubiquitous slaves.  Hot mulled cider was being served.  Well spiced, as the first sip revealed.  And there was remarkably dark—and curiously flavourful—toffee.  The Secretary scorched her tongue on the potato, and stuck her teeth fast in the grip of the toffee.

Off by the parade ground and up by the clubhouse, children and Greeks waved sparklers in arcane patterns.


End file.
